The Graveyard
by ShegoRulz
Summary: AVPM canon. Set after 'To Dance Again', from Voldemort's perspective. Just a little one-shot I had an urge to do :) Quirrellmort / Quirrelmort


**This is set just after 'To Dance Again'. Any lines recognised are from A Very Potter Musical, which is by Team Starkid, and Harry Potter is by J.K. Rowling, so I clearly don't own these characters. I just adore them. **

**Anyway, enjoy! (I hope). **

He takes a moment to get his breath back; it's been a while since he's danced like that. Voldemort eventually straightens up, still grinning widely as he admires himself before his eyes find Quirrell's. Ah, there he is.

The professor immediately comes over, clapping a little as he smiles. "Heeey, you never said you could do that!" He exclaims, before he begins to laugh. "This is so weird, seeing you! Looking good though. Really good."

He feels his face heat up for some reason, and he chuckles back. "You too, man." He says honestly, taking him in for a moment. So, this is what Quirrell looks like. Voldemort isn't disappointed. While he's seen a few glances of him whenever Quirrell had looked in the mirror sideways, seeing him like this is entirely different.

"So, before it all goes crazy here," Quirrell continues, sidling up to him and rummaging for something in his pocket. "I wanted you to have this!" He eventually retrieves a slip of paper and unfolds it, showing Voldemort. "See? It's kind of like a journal, a little, but it's an account of all the awesome days we had when we were attached..." He turns the paper over. "And this bit is for the days we can fill in for all the fun we have unattached. And it's for you, if you want it."

"Of course I want it, moron." Voldemort is touched. Quirrell's done this for him? He becomes more sweet and selfless the more Voldemort looks at him and listens to him. He takes the paper from Quirrell, folding it up again. "Thanks. You didn't have to do that..."

"I know, but I wanted to." Quirrell replies, and then he frowns. "Um, so listen. About the boy."

"Jeez, thanks for reminding me. Potter, right!" Voldemort turns, but Quirrell quickly touches his forearm, making Voldemort's eyes widen slightly. Oh. That's...nice.

"No, no, not Potter. The other one, Cedric Diggory." Quirrell lowers his voice. "Did we actually kill him? Is he not...not just knocked out or something?"

Voldemort snorts with surprised laughter. "What? Y'think I'd be that shaky at magic? Get outta here!"

Quirrell's face falls instantly. "But he shouldn't have died. I did - I did that, did I kill him?"

"Nah," Voldemort bats his hand, still giggling a little. "It was your wand, but I shot the spell, no worries. My bad!" He's about to turn away to finally go and sort Potter out, but Quirrell's face makes him hesitate. "What?"

"I understand about Potter, kind of. I can see why you'd want to get revenge or whatever. But the Diggory boy? What did he do?"  
"Well, he...was in my way. He could've said something to someone, then I'd be in serious shit." Voldemort replies, patting his shoulder. "No harm done."

"No harm - A boy is dead! Why would you do that?" Quirrell replies, and now he looks terrified. Fucking hell.

"Are you _questioning_ me, Quirrell?" He asks before he can stop himself and feels a stab of guilt when his friend takes a step back. "I mean - sorry, that was the old Dark Lord thing acting up. Look. I'm sorry, ok? I am. You're right, he didn't have to die." Ugh God, why does Quirrell turn him into...such a sap? "Don't look at me like that. This is the first time I'm properly seeing your face - and what a cute little face it is - so can't you go back to smiling?"

Quirrell blushes a little, which makes Voldemort grin, and eventually he smiles shakily. "Can we talk about this later? After...after..."

"After I kill Potter, sure." Voldemort shrugs. "If you want, but I'm kinda all out of things to say."

Quirrell nods, but he still looks a little wary. "Um, V-Voldemort, I've been meaning to ask…"

"Uh-huh?"

"It's just, where are we gonna go after this? Where am _I_ gonna go?"

"You're coming back to my new headquarters, silly." Voldemort snorts. "Just like I said. And in between evil schemes and shit, we can just hang out."

"Will I still be doing evil things for you?" Quirrell then asks, and Voldemort frowns, trying to find the words.

"No. No, not if you don't want to. You've already done an awesome job, pretty much against your will, so of course not. You'll just hang out with me. If you want."

"I do. That sounds...great." Quirrell replies, and now he's properly smiling and it makes Voldemort's stomach do weird flips for some reason. Huh.

"I mean, no pressure to hang around of course." Voldemort feels like he should add. "You're not a prisoner or a slave or whatever, you're my...my friend." God. It feels so weird to say that, but he likes it. He could get used to it. "Y'know, if you ever find someone or want to leave or -"

Quirrell laughs. "Find someone? Are you serious?"

"Well, I...Yeah. Why, what's so funny about that?" He asks, a little confused by Quirrell's reaction. He's a good-looking, sweet guy, who could easily go off and meet a person.

"Oh, man, it's just..." Quirrell continues to giggle, and Voldemort feels himself begin to smile at the sound. "No guy's gonna want me! I'm best friend's with the Dark Lord!"

Voldemort's smile drops at that and he shakes his head. "Hey, don't...don't say it like that. That's not what it's like at all. I'm not gonna hold you back from getting a partner."

"Oh, Voldemort." Quirrell grins. "I don't even _want_ to find a boyfriend! I have everything I -"  
He cuts himself off, eyes wide, and Voldemort raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I, um..."

"What is it?"

Quirrell shakes his head, and Voldemort swears he's blushing. "No, sorry, it...doesn't matter. It's just, we're gonna stay friends, right?"

"Of course we are. You're my first and best friend." Voldemort replies with a sheepish little smile. "No matter what happens. So you don't worry about not being able to get a boyfriend. Any guy would be lucky to have you."

"I'm not worried about that." Quirrell says honestly, and he's looking at him so fondly that Voldemort feels himself swallow nervously.

"Well...good. 'Cause like I said. Any guy would...be really lucky."

Quirrell chuckles again, and his blush is still there as he looks away for a moment. "Don't you have an evil scheme to do or...?"

"Ah, God damn it!" Voldemort laughs. "You keep distracting me. Right. I'm gonna do stuff now so -"

He's interrupted by a very familiar voice and his face lights up as he turns around. "Bellatrix Lestrange!" She's still around? Holy shit, it's nice to see her face. He immediately walks towards her, trying to put on his best evil grin, before spinning her around and dipping her, leaning down to whisper. "It's about time you showed up. Where he fuck have you been?"

"My Lord, I -" She's about to go on, when Voldemort stops her; he can't be assed with acting cold towards her.

"Forget it," He murmurs, standing her back up, but only after he has himself some fun. "The old days are back, baby." And _jeez_, has he missed sex. He glances to the side, only to find Quirrell looks really annoyed about something or other. Oh. Maybe it's because he hasn't introduced Bellatrix to him or something. Well, whatever, he can do that properly later. Voldemort quickly looks away, finding the expression on Quirrell's face a little daunting, and quickly brings himself back to focus. Uh, what is he even meant to say? Evilness, blah, blah, 'ruling the world for all time!' seems to usually do the trick, so he does just that, grinning at the response he gets. Perfect. He tries to look at Quirrell again, but the man is now idly kicking at the ground and twirling his wand around in his hands. The movement is so adorable that Voldemort almost misses what Bellatrix says next.

"...We blame Potter's murder on _Quirrell_ -"

There's a small gasp and a clattering noise; Quirrell has dropped his wand. He's not the only one shocked; Voldemort has frozen and he stares blankly ahead, his mouth open slightly as Bellatrix continues. Shit. Oh, shit, shit, _shit_! How could he have forgotten that? It's been so long ago since he planned that, before he'd even got to know Quirrell properly. Oh God, oh no, what a mess...

His eyes find Quirrell's and they look at each other, Quirrell's eyes terrified as he shakes his head, as if he's begging Voldemort to tell him it's not true. Voldemort doesn't know how to respond. He's too scared himself. Scared of what this might mean for both of them. He can't speak and instead just looks at him, until Quirrell seems to square up, his eyes narrowed. Oh no. Quirrell's _really_ mad at him. And from experience, when Quirrell is mad, he is absolutely fuming. This is going to be awful.

Voldemort's about to say that he didn't mean it, it's all cool, they can figure something else out, but suddenly Quirrell is taking a step forward, right near the two of them. Bellatrix's eyes widen in surprise at the nerve he has and she folds her arms.

"I'm sorry?" Quirrell asks, contempt written all over his face, but Voldemort knows how scared he is. "What was that about me going to Azkaban for Potter's murder?"

Bellatrix laughs in disbelief and Voldemort does not like where this is going. He looks at Quirrell warningly, gesturing with his eyebrows for the young man to step back or just keep quiet, but Quirrell completely ignores him. Bellatrix has already begun to screech about treating Voldemort with respect or whatever, and he feels the need to hastily step in.

But he fucks up. Oh God, he fucks up. Why can't he just tell the truth to everyone? Why can't he just go, "Yeah, this guy is my friend. I like him. I don't think we should send him to jail at all. In fact, I want him to hang out with me all the time, it's a whole lot more fun than thinking up schemes.' Because that'd be weird, and not at all evil, and oh fuck, he wishes Quirrell would stop looking at him with such anger. He can't blame him, but it still makes his stomach hurt and his mouth dry when Quirrell continues with his cutting remarks.

"It's not like that." He tries, even though of course that's exactly what it looks like. But he forgot, he made a mistake, he wants to fix it.

Quirrell looks right at him, and it's horrible. Voldemort wants to cower away at how utterly disgusted his friend is at him. "Isn't it?" He then asks coldly, and Voldemort quickly shakes his head. If he can just get Quirrell by himself for a second, that's all it'll take him. Maybe they can reach some sort of compromise! Quirrell will only have to stay there until...until...until Voldemort rules the world, right! And - and then Quirrell can stay with him and plant his flowers and everything will just be great! Taking over the world won't take too long. A few weeks, maybe? So Quirrell won't be in prison long at all, he'll make a couple of weeks!

Voldemort smiles a little in relief, mentally patting himself on the back, but then he hears Bellatrix do what he was scared would happen at the very start.

"_Crucio_!"

_No_. Quirrell screams, and it makes Voldemort stagger back, appalled as he watches his friend collapse to the ground, shuddering and convulsing violently, still shrieking. Voldemort didn't ever, ever want Quirrell to be hurt. This isn't how the plan was meant to go.

"No no no, cut that out, no!" Voldemort roughly shoves Bellatrix's hand away, but the spell has already left its mark. Quirrell is curled up, sobbing, and Voldemort feels sick now. He wants it to stop. He wants to go back to bed. He doesn't know what to do.

He kneels by him, closing his eyes as Quirrell continues to cry. "Are you alright?" He whispers to him. _Please be alright. Please don't be mad at me. We're friends. You're my best friend_. He leans in closer to whisper more softly, "I'm sorry, man, I really am. I messed up. But you'll be okay, you won't be there long."

Quirrell sobs shakily, still curled up, his hands in his hair. Voldemort bites his lip, wanting him to say something. "Listen, this wasn't what I...I mean..."

"Did you really know this whole time?" Quirrell manages to say. "That you'd blame Potter's murder on me?"

_I forgot because I'm a fucking moron_. "Yes..." He swallows nervously, because all the Death Eaters are now looking at him. "I knew, I mean..."

Quirrell moans, his head back in his hands, and Voldemort hastily adds, "But things have changed over the last year, I feel different now!" He reaches out to place a hand on Quirrell's shoulder, desperately trying to comfort him, but Quirrell reaches out a shaking arm to shove him away.

"Don't touch me!"

Oh fuck. Voldemort hesitates, shrinking back a little. His head is beginning to hurt. He needs to make it better, he needs everything to be better. Before he can stop himself, he's talking about a movie they'd watched together like a month ago. He can feel everyone staring at him, especially Bellatrix, who is looking at him like he's completely lost it, and so he awkwardly finishes with, "And, uh, Freddie Prince Jr. turns out to be good!" What is happening. Why isn't Quirrell looking at him. Why is everything going so horribly wrong.

And then Quirrell's yelling at him again and Voldemort closes his eyes, screwing his face up a bit. It lasts for a while, until Quirrell hisses at him, quietly so no one else can hear. "I trusted you. I trusted the fucking Dark Lord. A child is dead because I trusted you, and another won't be far behind. You said you were my friend."

"I - I am!"

"You're a sick, twisted -"

"Hey, hey now, that's - I care about you, Quirrell, I do!"

"You're sending me to Azkaban! I'm going to rot away in a cell and it's _your_ _fault_!"

Voldemort feels likes he's been punched in the gut as Quirrell points at him. "I made a fucking list of stuff for you! And you told me I'd be okay and now you're sending me away!" His voice cracks and Voldemort automatically reaches for the folded bit of paper in his pocket. He doesn't know what else to say as he drops his head, sighing miserably.

"Well, I wish there was another way." He admits gruffly, standing up when he realises it's pointless. He's worked way too hard for it to all go wrong now. Besides, it's not like Quirrell will be in Azkaban for life or anything.

Oh, please, as if that makes it any better! Quirrell's being sent to the worst place on Earth and it's Voldemort's fault. "I have to take over the world." He continues, more to himself than anything to remind him of his key goal.

Quirrell laughs coldly, and it's so awfully different to his cute giggling Voldemort heard only half an hour ago. "Well, there it is." He snaps as he struggles to his feet, his whole body still shaking from the curse. Or maybe it's fear. "I hope you know that it's gonna...it's gonna be pretty hard to make the rollerblading date from Azkaban!"

Okay. Okay, now Voldemort's stomach is hurting so bad he feels he's going to collapse if he doesn't sit down soon. He makes a feeble little groan, turning away from Quirrell. He can't watch this.

Bellatrix, still clearly confused, clicks her fingers. "Death Eaters, take him away!"

Voldemort holds his breath as he hears the commotion behind him. Death eaters are clearly grabbing his friend and taking him, so why isn't Voldemort doing anything? He waits until it's all quiet, and he breaths out shakily. Everything is still. It's unnaturally quiet. He risks turning his head, and even though he knows Quirrell isn't there anymore, his heart lurches.

"Qui -" He's cut short as Bellatrix's hand touches his cheek, making him jump. For the first time in forever, he doesn't want her near him in any way at all. She hurt Quirrell, she tortured him, and now he's gone.

And it hurts so much. He doesn't think he's ever hurt this badly, so he can only imagine how Quirrell's feeling. "What?" He then says numbly when Bellatrix says something.

"Your chance to kill Harry Potter!" Bellatrix is still clearly unsettled by his behaviour, but a small smile spreads across Voldemort's face. Finally, yes, revenge. He turns around, but the boy is already grabbing up the punch ladle, and before Voldemort can do anything Potter and the other boy are gone.

Bellatrix is swearing viciously and is stomping around, but all Voldemort can think of is that now Quirrell doesn't need to be arrested, because Potter isn't even dead. Yet. But Quirrell doesn't need to go anywhere! He almost laughs in relief, and then Bellatrix turns to him, stomping her foot.

"My Lord, we need to get him back!"

"I know." Voldemort breaths, "Before the Dementors take him inside."

Bellatrix looks at him and he suddenly realises she was talking about Potter. Oh. "I - I mean, yes! But, uh, Quirrell too, right? Seeing as the boy isn't even -"

"That peon can still take the fall for the death of the other kid." Bellatrix rolls her eyes. "C'mon, focus! Potter! Revenge! _Making love_."

Voldemort groans feebly, massaging his temples. Right, the other kid. Quirrell is being blamed for that too now. Oh God. "Um, well, we should...go to the headquarters, I guess. To plan and...stuff." He trails off. He feels so lost and he wants someone to just give him a reassuring pat or something, just to tell him he'll be alright. That Quirrell will be alright too.

Instead, Bellatrix grins wickedly and is already turning to lead him to wherever it is he's meant to stay now, and as she walks ahead Voldemort takes out the folded bit of paper and simply looks at the back of it. There are several empty boxes, and Voldemort had basically promised Quirrell the two of them would fill them in for everything they'd do unattached.

His steps get slower and his stomach churns when he thinks about where Quirrell is going. He's all alone now, and so is Voldemort. But at least Voldemort is a free man.

_Quirrell's tough. He'll be ok. _He tries to reason, and then falters. The strongest and most determined person alive still wouldn't be ok in Azkaban, that's the point. Quirrell is going to suffer. Horribly. And it's Voldemort's fault.

His first friend, his only friend, despises him and for the first time, Voldemort has absolutely no idea what to do.


End file.
